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DargonZine Distributed: 08/10/1996
Volume 9, Number 5 Circulation: 614
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Contents
Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
Shadowstone 4 Dafydd Cyhoeddwr Naia 13, 1014
Coup Jon Evans Sy 1014
Screams of War Mark A. Murray Sy 1014
========================================================================
DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a
collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
Please address all correspondance to or visit us
on the World Wide Web at http://www.shore.net/~dargon. Back issues
are available from ftp.etext.org in pub/Zines/DargonZine. Issues and
public discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.
DargonZine 9-5, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright August, 1996 by
the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb .
All rights reserved. All rights are reassigned to the individual
contributors. Stories may not be reproduced or redistributed without
the explicit permission of the author(s) involved, except in the case
of freely reproducing entire issues for further distribution.
Reproduction of issues or any portions thereof for profit is forbidden.
========================================================================
Editorial
by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
Many years ago, there was a happy, peaceful, productive land. But
some of its citizens felt it needed some excitement: a major event that
would unify its citizens and give them a rallying point to help focus
their efforts. So the call went out for volunteers to wage war.
The vocal advocates of war claimed that the battle would be quickly
and easily won. There'd be few casualties, and fighting would be limited
to those who volunteered for service. All would go precisely as planned
and be executed like clockwork with triumph following triumph, and the
eventual outcome would be a strengthened populace, unified by this great
cause.
So forces were mobilized and the first battles were fought. It
quickly became apparent that instead of a series of quick victories,
each battle would be a long drawn-out siege. Although ground was made
with every battle, the overall effort took on the nature of a lengthy
war of attrition. It would be neither quick nor easy.
The pre-war notion that there would be few casualties proved
horrendously wrong. As the war dragged on longer than anyone had
anticipated, those eager and energetic volunteers who had won the most
territory were lost, and there were no volunteer reinforcements to
replace them. The war ground to a dead stop. It wasn't going as planned,
and with the war's most vocal advocates lost in the fighting, the
noncombatants began to voice their dissatisfaction with the course of
events. Many expressly turned their back on the war to work toward their
own goals. The country was in big trouble.
But despite the growing unpopularity of the war, the country was
committed to that course of action, and had to bring the war to a
conclusion. An unpopular draft was instituted, drawing people into the
war who had been told it would never effect them. Few survived without
getting sucked into the seemingly unending war effort. After nearly a
decade of fighting, popular opinion finally caused the war to be brought
to an abortive conclusion far short of its original goals.
The people had been led off to war thinking it would be easy,
glorious, and painless. What they experienced was seemingly unending
drudgery, divisiveness, and pain. Although there were victories along
the way, the most valuable outcome of the war was the painfully-won
lesson that war is hell. The war was the biggest mistake in the history
of the land.
The punchline is that I'm not talking about a country -- I'm
talking about the Dargon Project, and our Baranur-Beinison war
storyline.
Since the project's inception, we've tried to create communal
events that span storylines, so that individual writers can reference
common events and give their works a sense of unity with what everyone
else is doing. Back in 1988, a war between the kingdoms of Baranur and
Beinison seemed like an excellent event which everyone could incorporate
into their stories. Unfortunately, it didn't take us very long to
realize that waging war in a fictional world is just as hazardous as it
is in the real world. We found ourselves making many of the same stupid
mistakes that real nations have made. Eight years later, we're still
trying to put the beast to rest. But with the publication of this issue,
we have passed a milestone:
The war's over.
Boy, it feels good to say that! So good, I think I'll say it again:
the war is *over*!
This issue contains Jon Evan's "Coup" storyline which officially
marks the end of the war between Baranur (to whom Dargon owes fealty)
and Beinison. Jon was one of those people who started out as a
"noncombatant" but who got drafted into finishing the war storyline when
key writers left the project. He deserves huge thanks for his
willingness to pick up the slack in the war storyline, as demonstrated
in "Coup" and "Laraka III".
Although this is the official end of the war, you'll still see
several stories which deal with the aftermath of the war. War has
lasting effects which can't be ignored, and this war is a historical
fact that will remain evident in our works for some time to come.
But that's not going to stop us from celebrating the accomplishment
of something which has caused us so much pain and which we've been
working toward for so many long years.
The war is over!!!
========================================================================
Shadowstone
Part IV
by Dafydd Cyhoeddwr
Naia 13, 1014
Naia 13, 1014.
Second bell.
The Refuge of Thornodd's Raiders, in the Hills outside of Port Andestn,
Duchy Monrodya.
Panic gripping him, Chandras darted immediately to the nearest
group of raiders, keeping track of what the grey-eyed man by the doorway
was doing. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he quickly checked
all 4 of the raiders in the group he had approached (no grey eyes!)
before disturbing their conversation. In a low voice, he said, "Pardon
me, but who is that standing by the doorway there?"
One of the raiders started to say, "Oh, that's ..." in a normal
tone of voice, but Chandras said "Shhhhh! Not so loud, please!"
The raider frowned, but complied. In a softer voice, he said,
"That's Sennex."
"Have you known him long? Was he with you when you planned your
raid on the mining camp?"
"Why? What does it matter?"
"Just tell me, please!"
The raider shrugged and said, "Well, I've known him for years -- he
was a Raider before I joined.
"And, no he wasn't with us then. In fact, we found him wandering in
the hills as we were returning from that raid. He said he remembers
being knocked unconscious by those Minions, and then he woke up in a
ravine, tied hand and foot. He got himself loose, and was trying to find
his way to the Refuge when our group stumbled across him. We figured he
must have fallen from the horse of the Minion who was carrying him."
"Yeah, or maybe he was lying," Chandras said. He shook his head,
and stopped whispering, even though the group of raiders continued to
look at him strangely for asking such odd questions. "Do you have any
extra weapons I could borrow? I suddenly feel like I need to go armed."
He was led through one of the sleeping chambers to a small storage
cave, where he picked up a sword. He contemplated trying to find armor
that fit him from among the extra pieces lying there, but he had no real
intention of going into battle -- the sword was for a more immediate
use.
When he returned to the main chamber, Thornodd was just reentering
it as well. Chandras quickly checked for Sennex, and found him across
the room from the opening with a strange satisfied smirk on his face.
Chandras edged his way closer to the grey-eyed man as Thornodd gathered
everyone around the table again. Chandras noticed that Jerek had also
returned, and he had a large open book in his hands that he was reading
very intently.
Thornodd had a very serious look on her face as she regarded her
gathered raiders. Chandras watched carefully, and saw that Sennex was
careful to avert his eyes from the Captain as her gaze swept around the
table. His suspicions completely confirmed, Chandras stepped back a
little from the table so that he was mostly behind the grey-eyed man.
And he raised his new sword, ready for the right moment.
It came sooner than he had expected. Thornodd started speaking
abruptly with, "We have had a visit from our guest's unhuman friend. She
appeared out of thin air in front of Jerek and I and told us three
things -- three very important things. These were ..."
Chandras decided that Mistress Olmehri didn't need to know more. He
shouted, "Wait, Captain Thornodd! There is a traitor in your midst!" And
he thrust his sword into Sennex's back as hard as he was able.
Everyone turned and looked in Chandras' direction at his shout, and
everyone gasped as about a foot of blade suddenly protruded from
Sennex's stomach. And everyone took a step back when the spy just
laughed. Even though Chandras had been half expecting it, he cried out
when he felt the sword begin to move in his hand of its own accord. The
blade moved sideways surprisingly quickly, and in moments it exited from
Sennex's side. It fell out of Chandras' limp hand and clattered to the
floor, startling everyone into sudden motion.
Sennex turned to run, still laughing superiorly. Almost everyone
rushed the man and bore him to the floor. It wasn't easy -- Sennex
pushed and shoved, tossing raiders left and right, but eventually by
weight of numbers the spy was pinned down.
Thornodd walked over and looked down at the still struggling man.
Chandras followed her and watched her examine Sennex, staring into his
eyes. She nodded in resignation, and said, "Take him into the farthest
chamber and bind him with chains. You needn't be gentle -- this is not
our friend Sennex."
Ten raiders wrestled Sennex to his feet and started dragging him
away while others went to fetch the chains. As he was dragged out of the
main chamber he shouted, "The Mistress knows everything! You cannot
win!" He started to laugh again, a loud, insane laugh that echoed around
the chamber and only slowly faded away.
It took a while to get everyone back around the table. The raiders
who had bundled Sennex away took their time to make sure he was well
secured. Thornodd detailed one raider to go up to the Lookout to make
sure that their watcher was fine and that no sign of the Minions could
be seen. Other errands were run, checking defense positions, checking
stores in case they got caught in a siege situation, and Jerek took the
opportunity to continue his reading. But eventually, everyone (except
the lookout) was back around the table in the main chamber. Thornodd,
with a grim look on her face, began, "We have certainly had undoubtable
proof of our guest Chandras' stories. And while I would prefer to simply
pack up and leave for safer climes, both Chandras' stories and the few
words Kimmentari herself spoke to me suggest that there is more at stake
here than we can simply walk away from.
"As I was about to say before the spy was revealed, Kimmentari told
Jerek and I three things. One was where to find the book he was looking
for, and even the legend to read about. Another was to believe
Chandras's stories, something that none of us should have trouble with
now. And the third thing was, to quote, 'Remember Masrobak'."
There were murmurs around the table, as if most of the raiders knew
why the mention of the Duke of Monrodya's son was significant. Chandras
didn't, but he put that question aside to ask another. "Did you see the
pattern, what Kimmentari called the Dance, as she spoke? It made
everything so clear, when she spoke to me."
Thornodd shook her head, and Jerek echoed it. "She only briefly
mentioned the Dance of Thyerin as a preface, an explanation of why she
was here. But though her music was incredible, there were no images of
the clarity that you mentioned. Vague suggestions, shadowy shapes, an
idea of the loom and the threads ... but that was all."
"Ah," he said, wondering why his perception had been so much more
precise. "Go on."
"Jerek, have you learned anything about this Shadowstone that is of
use to us?"
Jerek looked up from the book and said, "Yes and no. Kimmentari
said that the legend in this book was not terribly accurate; that we
could use it as a guide if we didn't try to extract details from it.
Trouble is, it is difficult to figure out what information we are
supposed to accept and what we should discard.
"Still, comparing this legend against Chandras' story does help. I
believe that this Shadowstone is a relic created back in the mists of
time by a race so ancient that the Araf don't even remember them. It has
the ability to bind the essence of a person to itself completely. After
being bound, the one who controls the stone is able to command and
control that essence, and give it what is called a Shadow body that is
practically indestructible as we have seen.
"There is a cost -- the controller of the stone must continue to
provide essences at an ever increasing rate, or be slowly consumed
instead. And the danger seems to be this: if the controller of the
Shadowstone is completely consumed, the stone will take over the duties
of feeding itself, and if that happens it will be virtually unstoppable
-- if this part of the legend is accurate.
"While there is still a controller, there would seem to be several
weaknesses to exploit. One is that killing the controller will return
the stone to its inert state, which will release the essences bound to
it. Unfortunately, while the stone is active, the controller is able to
cause the Shadow body of any and all of the bound essences to appear
upon command -- in other words, the controller has an indestructible
army of guards to protect himself, or herself in this case.
"The other weakness I could find was that of the essences
themselves. For one, the power available to the stone seems to be
directly related to how many essences are bound to it. For another,
being bound to the stone does not kill the person -- in fact, they
become effectively immortal in that their bodies will not naturally die,
though they are not invulnerable like their Shadow forms are, and the
essence cannot exist without the natural body. The legend suggests that
if the natural body is restored to consciousness, then the stone's hold
over the essence is reduced -- perhaps to the extent that the controller
will no longer be able to summon the Shadow form of that essence to her
defense. It's not much, but its something."
There was a short period of silence as everyone mulled over the
deluge of information. Finally, Thornodd spoke. "The Mistress Olmehri
and her Minions are bringing down some kind of 'doom' on Port Andestn,
and it seems to fall to us to attempt to forestall this fate. I know
we've never been a force for 'justice' before, but it would seem that we
are all that is available, and I find myself compelled to action.
"So, we have to eliminate the Shadowstone's threat, and to do that
we must kill Olmehri. But to do that, we must first deal with her shadow
army as well as any other magical defenses that both Olmehri and the
stone might use against us. And one way is to reduce the stone's power,
which conveniently happens to be related to the number of essences it
controls."
"So, we need to get into the compound and rescue those bodies,"
said Jerek. "Just like before. Let's see ... ah, I suppose I could
produce a philtre that should wake the dead -- not literally, of course
-- when smelled. Then we'd need someone to get the philtre to them ..."
"Sounds like a start," said Thornodd. "We have two objectives --
disrupt the power of the stone so that the defenses available to Olmehri
are reduced, and eliminate Olmehri herself.
"Seems to me we need to divide into three groups. One to attack the
compound and try to divert some of the Minions away from Olmehri and the
stone. A second group will have to find wherever the original bodies are
stored and revive them, and lead them away from the compound. And the
last will have to be the one to attempt to kill Olmehri.
"These latter two forces will have to be small, since there are so
few of us in the first place and we need as many as possible in the
diversionary attack. I think that Jerek and I should be the ones to
attempt to take Olmehri's life. Volunteers for the second team?"
Chandras had been thinking throughout Thornodd's speech, and as
soon as she asked, he said, "I'll volunteer, Captain. I'm pretty good at
sneaking into places, and I've already been inside the compound. I have
an idea of where the bodies are."
"Thank you, Chandras. Any others?"
"Excuse me, Captain," said Chandras, "but I think I should go
alone. One person has more of a chance to move unseen than two, and I
don't think you've got any rooftoppers among you any longer. If Jerek's
philtre will get them on their feet and moving, I think I can do the
rest by myself."
"But, Captain," spoke up one of the raiders. "I don't object to
trusting our guest with a vital part of the mission, but it only makes
sense to have someone along who can watch his back, at the very least."
Thornodd thought for a moment, then said, "That makes sense, but so
does Chandras. He has experience watching his own back, I think. All
right, Chandras, you are team two. Okay then, everyone else will provide
the diversion. Let's begin the planning.
"Jerek, if you would get started putting together those explosive
packs, and anything else you can muster to add to the confusion we need
to generate. Any suggestions for how we can seem to multiply the number
of people actually attacking?"
As the tactical discussion continued, Chandras pulled away a bit.
His planning skills didn't lend themselves to squad movements, and
besides, he had other things on his mind. Like how to get in to the
compound, and back out unseen. And what he needed to do when he found
the bodies.
Naia 13, 1014.
Seventh bell.
Corridom Silver Mine, just outside of Port Andestn, Duchy Monrodya.
Chandras crouched in the shadows where the wall met the cliff on
the opposite side of the box canyon from where he had entered the
compound before, and waited for the attack to begin. He looked up at the
top of the wall he was about to scale, and was again surprised that
there weren't sentries patrolling it constantly. After all, Olmehri
certainly had the troops to spare. But there once again seemed to only
be guards at the top of the gatehouse towers.
The first explosion startled him even though he had been expecting
it. Fire blossomed on top of the same tower as before, this time
destroying the forward parapet. Chandras thought he saw a body fall
outwards, but he wasn't sure in the flickering firelight.
The shout that arose from within the compound was almost
immediately drowned out from a much louder sound from the walls of the
box canyon outside the compound. Jerek had used some of his improvised
magic to produce makeshift implements that would take in the screams and
shouts of the diversionary group, and then copy, amplify, multiply, and
send out those sounds over and over until their magical energy ran out.
Chandras saw several people appear on the wall by the guard tower
nearest him and look out, trying to find the source of all that noise.
He turned in time to see the initial charge by the diversionary team,
again aided by some of Jerek's magic that seemed to quadruple the number
of people running towards the walls. The people who had been on the wall
vanished, probably to inform those within that there was a massive
attack coming. Chandras took the opportunity to begin climbing.
This side of the compound wasn't in any better repair, and he
climbed the cliff and wall easily. He checked the state of the attack
and the defense, making sure it was safe before actually climbing onto
the wall's walkway. There was no convenient building in this corner of
the compound, so he just climbed down the inside of the wall, using the
cliff when he needed to.
Once safely on the ground again, he took to the shadows and moved
over to the corner of the nearest building and looked into the compound.
Apparently, no ceremony had been going on, because the dais was empty,
and there were people pouring out of certain buildings and heading for
the wall. His path was clear to the opening he had seen the victims of
the ceremony carried to the day before, so he started to make his way
carefully over to it.
The second explosion also caught him off guard, and he stumbled and
fell -- fortunately, completely in shadow, and silently too. He looked
back and saw flames dancing across the top of the gateway arch. People
were still coming out of various buildings, and the wall's walkway was
now about half-filled with Minions hanging over the parapet and
screaming. Very few were actually firing ranged weapons though -- maybe
Olmehri hadn't stocked any bows and arrows for her compound?
Chandras resumed his journey. No one seemed to be so much as
glancing in his direction -- the diversion was doing its job -- but he
didn't want to take a chance, so he stayed as hidden as he possibly
could. Even so, all of his efforts were almost for naught. As he reached
the edge of the cliff opening he was heading for, he stumbled. He caught
himself before he fell into a patch of light, and as he paused to catch
his breath and still his beating heart, two Minion knights, fully
armored and carrying large swords, charged out of the entrance and
toward the wall.
He hadn't thought of there being guards over the bodies. Why guard
comatose bodies, after all? What boring duty. Of course, these guards
were rather more loyal than normal, weren't they?
Chandras waited for a while longer, constantly expecting more
guards. Finally, he made himself move into the opening, trying to
stretch his senses to their limit to find any further guards still at
their posts before they found him.
The entrance opened onto a tunnel that just kept going on and on,
no doors, no side passages, no nothing. Torches mounted on the walls
every so often kept the way lit, but didn't leave much of any place to
hide. Eventually, Chandras stopped creeping forward and just started
walking down the center of the tunnel.
Kimmentari appeared outside the walls of the compound just as the
second explosion went off, so that almost no one noticed the splash of
violet light. She turned and found Thornodd and Jerek staring at her
from where they were waiting in the corner of the wall and cliff,
getting ready to climb into the compound. She said, "Come with me. This
will be easier."
She waited until first Thornodd, and then Jerek, came over. She
offered each of them an arm, and when they were holding on, she opened
the entrance to the Merstaln and went in.
Their journey was very brief, only two steps, but as they emerged
in a short alley between two buildings built against the cliff wall at
the back of the compound, her passengers sagged on her arms, gasping and
wheezing.
Kimmentari needed to wait for a little while anyway, so she didn't
begrudge her companions their recovery time. She needed to steel herself
for the coming confrontation. Olmehri would have one more chance to
renounce the shard of her own free will, but Kimmentari had little hope
that her cousin would relent -- she was too stubborn, too set on revenge
and on getting her due. If Olmehri refused to see sense, Kimmentari was
prepared to do what she had to. She only hoped the other dancers were,
too.
Thornodd and Jerek had fully recovered by the time the last Minion
had dashed out of the building that was Kimmentari's destination. She
said, "Olmehri is in that building, and is currently unguarded by
Minions. Follow me, I will lead you to her. But be warned, she is not as
defenseless as she will seem. Ready?"
The two humans nodded, and Kimmentari set off. In through the open
door, through empty corridors, and finally into Olmehri's throne room
without a pause.
Olmehri looked terrible. She slumped in her throne, head bowed,
eyes closed. It seemed to Kimmentari that her cousin looked thinner, her
skin paler, her hair wispier than on her previous visit. The shard was
taking its toll.
"Cousin!" she called out. Olmehri slowly opened her eyes and raised
her head. Even her eyes seemed washed out, drained of their color and
vitality. "Olmehri, renounce the shard. It is killing you!"
"No," was the faint reply. "I am still in control, and I will
succeed. I will never give it up!" Even when trying to shout, Olmehri's
voice was still a thin whisper.
"Then you must die, cousin. I am sorry, but if the Shadowstone
succeeds in consuming you, it will be unstoppable." Kimmentari turned to
her companions and said, "Kill her."
The Shadowstone's wooden stand was right next to the throne.
Olmehri only had to move her arm over a little bit before her hand
rested on the stone, though it seemed to be a real effort for the
half-Araf to accomplish it. But when she came into contact with the
stone, vitality seemed to rush back into her and she straightened up,
her eyes almost glowing with power.
She grinned evilly, and said, "You will have no easy time of that,"
in a voice that was loud and clear and backed by music that almost
sounded rich enough to be that of a full Araf. Kimmentari looked
astonished at that, and Olmehri laughed. "Yes, cousin. Now you know why
I dared the risks of the Shadowstone. It can give me my heritage -- all
the powers of a full-blood Araf!
"Yes, all of that *and* the power of the stone itself. You will be
the ones to die!" She laughed as four Minions armed with swords appeared
in the room and immediately attacked Thornodd and Jerek. "You, cousin,"
Olmehri said, eyes locked on Kimmentari, "will be mine to destroy."
Chandras finally came to the end of the tunnel and found himself in
a large room filled with shelves. If he hadn't been expecting something
like it, he probably would have turned and run, because on the shelves
were the bodies of the Shadowstone's victims. Row after row, shelf after
shelf -- there had to be at least a hundred bodies laid out, looking
like they were sleeping. The room looked like a nightmare version of a
mortuary.
He stepped over to the nearest body, and removed the bottle that
contained the potion Jerek had mixed from his belt pouch. He had been
thinking about what he had to do ever since he volunteered for this
task, and he still hadn't quite made up his mind. The potion would rouse
these people, weakening the Shadowstone's hold over them and thus its
power. But he had also noted a phrase that Jerek had used when
recounting the legend of the Shadowstone -- that the essence which the
stone trapped would vanish if the physical body died. And if disturbing
the link between stone and essence by awakening the bodies would weaken
the stone, how much more disruption would occur if the essence went away
completely?
He wasn't too surprised that no one seemed to consider that as an
option since the raiders' purpose was to save their captured fellow
raiders. But Chandras wasn't one of Thornodd's Raiders. As far as he
knew, none of his friends were in this room. Which should make that
option easier to enact, if he could just make up his mind which option
to choose.
Kimmentari prepared herself for Olmehri's magical attack as she
watched the Raider Captain and her magician battle with the
indestructible Minions. And then, unbidden, the dreams that had involved
her in this dance in the first place sprang into her head. She saw them
both -- the one where the innocents were rescued, and the one where they
died. She knew that the resolution of the dreams was close -- would the
right conclusion be reached?
Then Olmehri launched her first magical assault, and Kimmentari's
attention was fully diverted to the here and now, which was for the best
anyway. She had done all she was able to do to -- set the right events
in motion -- and it was out of her hands now.
She deflected the assault and was preparing a return blow when one
of the minions shrieked as if in mortal pain. All eyes turned to him as
he staggered, then fell to his knees before Olmehri. "Help me!" he
pleaded to her, before he faded away and vanished.
Chandras was surprised by the blood. Perhaps he had seen too many
blades go into bodies bloodlessly in the past couple of days, but when
he slit the man's throat he just hadn't expected to get drenched in
blood. By the gods, there was a lot of it in a body, wasn't there? He
was glad he hadn't managed to stab Malkhas! And then he began to laugh
as he looked around the huge rough-cut stone chamber and the five score
or more bodies stacked neatly on shelves all around it. The laugh got
more and more hysterical as he realized that somewhere in here was the
real Malkhas, and that he'd finally get to do what he had set out to do
in the first place.
Eventually, he calmed himself down. There seemed to have been no
reaction to the first death, but there would be one eventually. He felt
in his belt pouch for the philtre bottle he had put back there. He shook
his head briefly at the thought of trying to lead a hundred rambling
zombies out of the compound to safety. Obviously an impossible task. His
decision had been as much due to that thought as to the realization that
even weakened, the forces at Olmehri's command would overwhelm the
remnants of Thornodd's Raiders easily. Olmehri had to be eliminated, and
only eliminating her source of strength completely was going to
accomplish that.
He moved to the next body in a daze. Now that the decision was
made, could he go through with it? The first man hadn't made a sound, or
twitched, or anything. If not for the blood, Chandras thought he might
even be able to imagine that it had been the throat of a dressmaker's
dummy that he had cut. But there was blood. Blood on the man. Blood on
his hands and chest. Blood on the shelf. Blood on his knife. Blood,
blood, blood ...
Chandras lowered his knife to the throat of the second man, and
wondered whether he had the resolve to do this 99 more times ...
"He's gone!" said Olmehri, looking at where the guard had been. She
looked up at Kimmentari, and said, "You wouldn't! You couldn't!"
"I didn't, cousin. It surprises me, too. Chandras has come to this
measure by his own decision. You are defeated.
"But you could still renounce the shard. If you free the essences
it has trapped, and then give up its power, you could still survive.
Rest and recuperative magic could restore you to your former health,
though it is likely that the abilities you have augmented with the
shard's power would be stripped from you completely. Just say the words,
cousin. Please?"
"Never!" Olmehri growled. "And your plan won't work either! I'll
just send my Minions to destroy this Chandras, to defend the vessels
..."
Kimmentari was ready for this. When she had touched the shard on
her last visit, she had learned what frequency it vibrated at. Now, she
began to sing at a pitch that resonated in and around that frequency.
Kimmentari's song penetrated the shard, and only its magical nature
saved it from being shattered immediately. But the song still had its
desired effect -- amplified and focused by the shard, Kimmentari's song
assaulted every one of Olmehri's senses, confusing them, overloading
them, making sure she stayed occupied enough that she couldn't send the
command through the stone that would doom Chandras.
Thornodd was as shocked as Olmehri when the minion vanished. That
shouldn't have happened, should it? If waking the original body of a
Minion made the shadow body disappear, then their task would be easier
than she had thought.
But Olmehri's next words seemed to indicate that something more had
happened. And then Thornodd realized what was happening -- Chandras was
killing the bodies, not waking them up! Her friends, her fellow raiders,
innocent townsfolk being executed by that little thief!
Kimmentari began to sing then, throwing the room into confusion.
Thornodd realized what Olmehri had said about sending her Minions to
kill Chandras before he finished his job. It looked like Kimmentari's
one-note song was keeping Olmehri from following through on her threat:
if she could send mental commands while writhing and screaming like
that, she was far stronger than she looked. But the three remaining
Minions seemed to realize what was required of them, and they turned and
dashed for the door.
Thornodd reacted instinctively and tackled two of them while
tripping a third. Jerek joined in as the Minions struggled to their
feet, and soon a five-person melee was raging in front of the door. It
was a terribly unequal match, since none of the cuts that either Jerek
or she inflicted did any damage whatsoever. The Minions weren't very
good swordsmen, but they didn't need to be since they couldn't be hurt
and didn't tire.
Thornodd was staggering under the heavy blows of the Minions by the
time the next one vanished with a cry as anguished as the first one's
had been. She had expected the battle to be a little easier, but the
remaining Minions fought even harder to get through the door and rescue
their Mistress before it was too late.
One kicked Thornodd in the shin at the same time the other slashed
at her unprotected shoulder. Only the Minion's lack of expertise saved
Thornodd's arm but the hard blow with the flat of the sword, combined
with the kick, knocked her off balance. She fell hard, numbing her sword
arm and when she looked back up she saw the Minion above her swinging
his sword at her two-handed. She tried to lift her sword to block it,
but she just couldn't move that arm yet.
Thornodd was getting ready to greet her dead relatives when the
Minion shrieked, faded, and vanished. The sword it had been holding flew
off on a tangent, missing her completely. She closed her eyes for a
moment, sucked in a deep breath of relief, and thought, 'Guess I'm lucky
Chandras decided on his more rash approach, or I'd be dead now.'
A cry from Jerek got Thornodd's attention again, and she saw the
last Minion dash past her magician friend who was clutching his arm,
blood oozing through his fingers. She surged to her feet, concern on her
face, but Jerek said, "I'm okay -- it's not as bad as it looks. We can't
let that one get away!"
They followed the Minion out into the hall, but the running figure
was almost at the stairs. Despairing of being in time, Thornodd started
after him, but a shouted, "Duck!" made her dodge to the side of the
hallway. A ball of green light sped past her and struck the Minion just
as he took his first step down. The ball of light exploded into mist
that wrapped itself around the Minion and turned into a half-dozen rings
of green light that immobilized the fleeing man and caused him to fall
down the steps to the first landing. Thornodd checked on the struggling
prisoner, who was unhurt by his fall and not going anywhere, before
returning to Jerek to check on the condition of his arm.
The slash really wasn't a bad wound, just bloody, and Thornodd
wrapped it quickly. By the time she was done, the trapped Minion had
vanished and the rings were lying on the landing and dissolving, their
green glow fading away.
She and Jerek returned to Kimmentari's side. Thornodd watched as
the Shadowstone almost seemed to squirm in its stand, trying to defend
its controller. The strange grey glow of the stone was visibly dimming
as the essences it held were freed by Chandras' work. Facet after facet
went dim, and Thornodd could sense that it wouldn't be much longer now.
It didn't get any easier. Chandras had just as hard a time with the
last slash as he had with the first. There was blood all over the room,
but he had ceased to notice it. It was simply part of what he was doing
-- killing innocents in completely cold blood. He was surprised that his
resolve lasted through every single body in the cavern.
He had executed Malkhas without even marking the event until he had
moved onto the next body. A brief salute, a brief thought about Delebye
and wondering whether she had really been worth all this, and he put it
behind him. His world focused to the knife and the throats, as he
systematically moved among the shelves and the bodies.
And finally, the last body was dead. Somewhere along the way, he
had thought about and decided how he was going to deal with what he had
done. He wasn't the heroic type, to be able to put the killing behind
him in the name of a just cause. He had done what he had to -- he had no
qualms about that. But he knew he didn't have the stomach to face the
inevitable nightmares.
He looked at the last body, a trickle of red running down her neck.
'Almost finished,' he thought. 'Just one more.' He sat against a wall,
and said, "And she'll never know what I've done for her." Then, he
completed his job of executions.
Kimmentari went silent when the shard went completely inert. The
glow was gone, and the rip had shrunk to a very small slit that no
longer glowed or pulsed. Olmehri slumped on her throne, still stunned
from Kimmentari's assault.
Thornodd looked hard at the stone, then turned to Kimmentari. "Is
it done?" she asked.
"Yes, except for one last thing. The Shadowstone has been drained,
but Olmehri is still linked to it. That link must be broken -- when it
recovers from the assault, it will absorb Olmehri's essence and then it
will become unstoppable. If you could ..."
Thornodd caught her meaning, and nodded. Kimmentari turned away,
but she still heard the sword piercing flesh. Hanging her head for a
moment, she sighed, and then turned back to the throne. Not looking at
the body, she removed the shard from its perch and secreted it away
inside her sleeve.
"I'll take care of disposing of the stone, Milady Thornodd,"
Kimmentari said wearily. "You and your Raiders can go your own way now.
You may wish to take over this compound, even. I would suggest that you
brick up the passage to the storage chamber where the bodies are, in any
case. It would make a fine tomb."
"We will, Lady Kimmentari. And thank you for your assistance here.
We couldn't have done it without you." Thornodd turned to Jerek, who had
also reentered the room, and said, "Jerek, why don't you go fetch
Chandras and tell him it's all over. Though I wish such drastic measures
had not been necessary, we owe him a great deal and I want to
congratulate him."
"Your pardon, Milady Thornodd, but that won't be necessary."
Jerek and Thornodd turned to her, and Thornodd said, "Why not? Oh,
he's probably come out on his own. Well, I'd better find him -- he still
needs to be congratulated."
"I didn't mean that. I'm sorry, but he rests with the others in the
chamber."
"What? Why!? Did a Minion find out what was going on and get to him
as he was killing the last one?"
"Chandras took his own life, Milady Thornodd. He did what needed to
be done, but he couldn't live with it having done it.
"Think on this: you killed my cousin, with little remorse. I
understand that -- she caused all of this, and she bore the
responsibility. But what if it had been you instead of Chandras in the
storage room? Could you have killed 100 or more seemingly sleeping
people who had done nothing against you of their own volition? Do you
then wonder at the path Chandras chose?"
Both Thornodd and Jerek looked stunned by Kimmentari's questions.
She walked past them into the corridor, and then into the Merstaln. She
would store the Shadowstone in one of the wild places, where few ever
went, and she would set wards that would warn her should someone find it
and claim it again. She didn't want this to happen yet again ...
As she contemplated the future, she also contemplated the past. The
dreams that had lead her here were firmly locked into their places in
the Dance now, one accomplished successfully, one avoided successfully.
She had set out from home to see that the right dream came about.
And she had fully expected that 'right dream' to be the one where the
innocents were saved. She was glad she hadn't shared that thought with
anyone, though, since she had been wrong. The innocents had been beyond
rescue from the moment that her cousin had captured them. If she had
applied herself to bringing the dream she wanted to reality, instead of
just guiding events so that the *right* dream became reality, then
disaster might really have followed. She enjoyed living in the human
world, but she had to remember not to become too human along the way.
========================================================================
Coup
by Jon Evans
Sy 1014
The six of us gathered in a starlit field, distanced from the
encampment and casual observers. An uneasy silence had gathered with us.
No one questioned why we had met. No clarification was necessary. All
were in agreement as to the identity of the problem. Still, the
evening's debate had not gone smoothly. Each had argued for a different
solution. Some had argued more loudly than others. Some merely
entertained ideas. These were easily allied to the stronger
personalities in the six. I allied two others to myself, rhetorically. A
fourth stood alone with her own dark plans. And the fifth and sixth
greedily strove for the power they perceived dangling in front of them.
Before these tidings could be drawn to their conclusion, I needed to
know what were the plans of the dark one. A majority was all that was
needed.
"So," I started, "we are in agreement, then."
"No!" another whispered violently. "We are not in agreement. All
we've done for the past two bells is argue!"
"You are the one who has argued, General," I answered. "you and
your assistant."
The man next to the general stiffened at this title. "I wield the
significant military power of my entire family, priest. I 'ally' myself
to the General ... we assist each other in this matter."
I nodded. "My apologies, Sir Knight. Still, there are four among us
that would agree to the same course of action."
"That is not the case," said the knight. "She," he indicated a
woman cloaked in a black robe with red borders, "does not agree with you
at all."
"On the contrary," she spoke slowly. All eyes turned to her. Her
voice was strained, escaping from her like a promise of death. "I agree
with both of you, on two different topics. You, General, and the
knight," she indicated to the armored individuals, "would kill our
quarry and continue this endeavor for land and power. While you,
priest," she pointed to me, "would merely convince our quarry to
withdraw his efforts." She slowly breathed in the night air, her lungs
straining with the effort. "I, however, find a happy medium with both of
you. Our quarry should be killed. But we must not continue in this
endeavor."
"It is obvious, as a priestess of Amante," I said, "that you would
choose to kill our quarry. However, that a priestess of the goddess of
death does not want ... this endeavor, as you put it, to continue seems
peculiar."
She sat motionless. "It rushes man and beast to the final destiny.
They are not ready for their journey, and Amante rejects them until they
can be prepared. Death is a natural order, that all of us -- even you,
priest -- must eventually embrace. But not before our time."
"And Untar?"
"Untar has brought his time upon himself."
"The war has aged him," Sir Horace thought.
"What is it, Sir Horace?" Untar asked. "Another god arising in the
Baranurian ranks, defeating my armies and killing my chief magus?"
Untar was speaking, of course, of Sir Luthias Connall, Knight
Captain of the Northern Marche. In the last eight months, Luthias
Connall had risen from a minor lord to a Count who commanded roughly
half of the Baranurian armed forces. He had also escaped Beinison's
prisons, and slain the Emperor's chief magus Mon-Taerleor. Now, however,
Sir Horace approached his Emperor with a more mundane threat -- yet one
that could destroy Beinison's already diminishing chances of winning
this war.
"Sir Horace?" the Emperor called, jarring Sir Horace from his
thoughts. "We are not in the habit of repeating ourselves. What is it
you wished to discuss?"
"Uh ... yes, your Majesty." Sir Horace replied, noting Untar's use
of the royal plural. He only did so when aggravated. "My apologies.
There are two matters which must be addressed, concerning the war."
"And so you approach us in the late of the evening, when most of
our advisors are not in attendance? Would these topics not better be
addressed in Council, with our other military advisors present?"
"My liege," Sir Horace started, "I believe one of these topics to
be extremely sensitive ... "
"And the second?"
"Had you visitors, I would have had a reason to be here, without
raising their suspicions."
"Who's suspicions?"
"I am not certain, your Majesty. That is why I approach you in the
privacy of the evening."
Untar paused a moment. "Speak, councilor."
"Yes, sire. The first issue I wish to address -- the least of the
two -- is the morale of the fighting forces. Or, more accurately, the
honor of our fighting forces. As you know, Sire, there have been
horrendous acts committed by our men as we further our occupation of
Magnus. Where Baranur has been driven from its capital, fire has swept
the streets. Our men are burning and pillaging these sections of the
city."
Sir Horace looked into the blank face of his emperor. "Sire, even
the mercenary divisions are more respectful -- and chivalric -- toward
this city and its inhabitants."
"I have been informed," the emperor stated. "The priests of Amante
and Gow are working together -"
"Amante and Gow!" Sir Horace exclaimed. "Sire, those two are as
night and day! Why - " Suddenly, Sir Horace realized he had interrupted
his emperor. "My apologies, Emperor. Please continue."
Untar breathed in slowly. "They are working together to quell the
situation. If that is not good enough for you, Sir Horace, perhaps you
can suggest a more strategic plan of simultaneously recognizing the
representatives of two of the most prominent religions."
"No, your Majesty."
"Excellent. Now that I have your approval on that topic, what is
the more sensitive matter that you desire to discuss?"
"My liege," Sir Horace began hesitantly, "you must understand that
this morale situation, as well as our recent defeats, has weakened our
effort to support this war. Of the three most prominent families, you
have only the undivided support of two. The third sides with you,
officially, but politically it sways with the winds. It always has."
"You tell me nothing new, councilor." Untar rested his head on his
hands. He hoped that this would not be a long, boring dictation on
situations he already knew. At the same time, he hoped that Sir Horace
did not suddenly present him with information that would destroy his
efforts to expand Beinison's territory.
"My Emperor, I have knowledge that a group of powerful
representatives are meeting in secret." Untar looked up from his seat.
"The exact nature of these meetings is unknown to me, but it would seem
most likely they are planning something other than military maneuvers."
"Who are these 'representatives', Sir Horace? What do you know
about them?"
"Only that they have met privately, to discuss matters of some ...
secrecy. I know nothing further."
"And how did you come to learn this knowledge?"
"I have a spy. I will not say what relationship he plays with this
group, except that he knows something of their activities."
"And what did your spy tell you?"
"Your effort to win this war -- your very life! -- is in danger,
sire. You must re-think recent events."
"Are you saying I should abandon the war at this late stage? We are
besieging the capital city of Baranur, and we have taken and burned
several sections of the city, as you yourself have been so careful to
point out just this evening!"
"Sire, if you'll forgive me -- "
"How much more can We forgive you, this evening?"
Sir Horace blushed and caught his breath. "Sire, the sections of
Magnus under our domain are all part of the section referred to as the
'Fifth Quarter'. It is the single largest breeding ground for filth,
poverty, and the criminal element in all of Baranur. We're probably
doing Baranur a favor by clearing it out and purifying it in fire.
Haralan might otherwise have hired a fighting force to do just that."
"And the rest of Magnus?"
"We have yet to cross the Laraka or enter the other two sections on
this bank. There is still heavy, sporadic fighting in the Fifth, and the
bridges that cross the Laraka are heavily defended. We will have to
devise another means of fording the river."
"So, you are advising me to retreat from Magnus, now that Baranur
is feeling our divine grip?"
"I'm advising you that internal forces are planning to resist your
advance on Baranur, and that if you don't re-think your political
actions, you may end up being removed. Your Majesty!"
"You dare threaten me!" Untar stood on his feet, kicking his seat
backward with the force. Immediately, a guard stepped out from behind
Untar's position. He drew his sword and advanced on Sir Horace.
Sir Horace stepped back a pace. "My Emperor, you have known me for
some years. You know that I do not threaten you."
"Your implications, however, threaten my existence on this throne!
Sir Horace, do you care to reveal the source of your knowledge, or the
members of this 'secret group' you claim exists?"
"I cannot, sire."
"Then I suggest you vacate my pavilion immediately. Do not think to
suggest my course of action be changed on your word. You are not held
*that* highly in my court."
The emperor's guard stepped between Sir Horace and Untar, and
gestured toward the door. Sir Horace bowed. "Good evening, my Emperor."
When Sir Horace was gone, Untar looked to his guard. "So, Thieryn
... what do *you* think of Sir Horace's tale?"
"Me, my Emperor?"
"You have been my personal guard for seven years, now. Your family
has maintained watch on the royal lineage for generations. Surely, if I
cannot trust your judgment, I can trust no one's. Is that not so?"
"Your life is my first concern, my Emperor."
I looked around at them again. The six of us, all representing
major powers within the Beinison ruling class, sat in a small group
several miles from the Emperor's encampment. We were deciding the fate
of nations. It was a mighty undertaking, full of hundreds of
unforeseeable consequences. Most people could not contemplate the
actions we were taking, for fear of losing control. But that is why we
were the ruling class: we were able to maintain control, even in the
midst of chaos. And Beinison was in chaos.
The dark priestess of Amante has made herself known to us,
rhetorically. She asks questions that steer the others toward the
answers she desires. They know she plans something; she does not hide
it. But what? All I wish is the cessation of this bloody war, and a
return to neutrality, if not outright peace. I feel peace, however, may
take many years.
"And so, we are drawn on two issues," the priestess of Amante
spoke. "The continuation or discontinuation of this war effort, and the
worth of the Emperor to Beinison's future."
"I, for one," spoke the Knight of the Star, "equate the Emperor
with Beinison. He has no heirs. And his sister is not well loved by the
court." He was referring to a scandal that had removed Beinison's
princess from the capital city, and forced her into a sort of self-exile
in the countryside.
"There are other ruling powers in Beinison, aside from the royal
family's." This was spoken by the nobleman.
"Such as?" I asked.
"Such as his own," offered the Amantean priestess.
"Yes, you Amantean witch! Such as my own. But there are several
others, and I feel confident that among the forces gathered here this
evening, we can work out a temporary hierarchy until a situation that
satisfies us all can be arranged."
"An interesting concept," offered the priestess. "And one which
might well pit the religions against each other, giving more power and
stability to the nobility. I do not relish a religious war with the
priests of Gow, or the priestesses of Alana."
"Nor do they wish one with you," I offered. There were several
chuckles. The followers of Amante were more assassins and thieves than
commoners. Their religious order practiced sacrificial rites and
self-inflicted pain, and harnessed the darkest of energies. On an open
field, Gow's warriors could annihilate the warriors of Amante. But it
would not be a war fought on open fields. It would be fought in secrecy,
under cover of night, with poisons and curses.
"There is yet another concern," spoke one of my allies. "Sir
Horace, a Knight of the Star."
"What of Sir Horace?" asked my other ally, a nobleman.
"He knows about these meetings," the first replied.
"Of course he knows," the nobleman spoke. "He is the highest
representative of my household, outside of Beinison. He was to be the
representative of our family. I am acting in his stead."
"And you have told him of our plans?" I asked. "You have told him
that Untar's life hangs in the balance?"
The nobleman stood up, nearly shouting his defense. "I *report* to
Sir Horace. He must know what occurs in these meetings. Only then can I
act out his will."
"You have been foolish," the Amantean witch stated. "Horace's
loyalties have always placed the royal line before Beinison."
"The royal line *is* Beinison, bitch!" Hissed the nobleman. "Untar
is the last of his line; his life must be preserved. The military has
the power -- "
"The military," I spoke, "has had all but the very worst luck, in
recent months, Sir. That issue is not to be debated, at this time.
Presently, the six of us are in conflict. There is no cessation from
either side. But involving Sir Horace has been a mistake."
"One that must be dealt with," the dark priestess spoke.
"He is my lord," protested the nobleman. "I cannot --"
"You have little choice." This was the General, speaking at last.
"Horace is an excellent knight, and your leader ... here. But your true
fealty lies to your family, in Beinison, and Horace threatens their
existence by making our presence known to Untar. He must be dealt with."
"But how?" my ally spoke. "He is still well loved by the emperor.
No challenge to his honor would even be believed."
"I shall arrange it," spoke the Amantean priestess.
The Knight of the Star and the General rose simultaneously, placing
their hands on their swords. The Knight spoke. "No assassin is going to
stab Sir Horace in the back, witch. Your blood will spill before his."
The Amantean priestess smiled, the wrinkles splitting face into a
thousand pieces. A pleasant appearance came upon her, and it frightened
me. It frightened all of us. We could hardly imagine what pleased her.
"Untar himself will give the order for Horace's execution."
"You have summoned me, my emperor?" Sir Horace asked. Untar sat in
his pavilion, on a temporary throne, his personal guardsmen in
attendance. Untar's royal cloak hung from tired shoulders, and his eyes
stared forward with determination. Again, Horace realized how much older
Untar had become. He looked, now, like an emperor -- no more the youth
Horace had known.
Untar's gaze focused on Horace. "Tell me about your secret group,
Sir Horace. I have reason to believe what you say is, at least,
partially true."
"I can say no more than I have already told you, my emperor. I am
unaware of the exact participants within the circle. I could only
guess."
"I do not want guesses from you, Horace." Untar stood up. "I want
the truth! You enter my pavilion, approaching me in secrecy, and attempt
to dissuade me from my assault on Magnus. Why?"
Horace stood silent; shocked.
"Then you inform me of a secret group, who decides my very fate.
Why?"
"My emperor, I -- "
"THEN! Then you tell me that we are being ineffectual against
Baranur! Why?"
"I -- "
"SILENCE!!" Untar approached him. Horace looked around himself,
alone in the room with the Emperor and all ten of the Royal Guard. Untar
never kept all of his guards with him at once. This was an inquisition,
Horace thought, albeit a benign one.
"Tell me one thing, Horace," Untar pleaded. "You have been
well-loved in the court. I have found evidence that you plot against me.
It is difficult to believe. Prove your loyalty to me. Who is in the
group?"
Horace was stunned. "Emperor, I have never --"
Untar whirled suddenly, slamming the back of his fist against
Horace's jaw. "Do not insult me again! Thieryn, bring the other
prisoner." Untar's personal guard signaled, and a body, heavily bloodied
at the mouth, was dragged into the room.
"I have, as you can see, your protege, Sir Rosgood. His tongue has
been removed. Heavy interrogation by Thieryn has determined that you
were the principal element in leading your secret group towards your own
secret ends, and the ends of your household. It is sad that his fealty
to his own household crumbled in the last instant. Before he drowned in
his own blood, he indicated your activity in the group, and lead us to
these papers."
Untar walked to his throne and picked up a parchment with Horace's
family crest. It was a parchment sent to Horace, requesting that he meet
with the six members of the secret group.
"Emperor, that document only requests that I meet with the group.
It indicates nothing else. I did not even attend those meetings! I sent
Rosgood in my stead!"
"And so, your lies meet an end," Untar said. Untar looked sad,
worn, and at the edge of tears. Horace, with his very life suddenly
depending on the outcome of this audience, still felt pity for Untar. He
loved his emperor.
"This document," Untar continued, "indicates a secret treaty that
your family has initiated with Haralan, King of Baranur. It further
gives you authority to grant special dispensations to the other members
of your group, should they be convinced to pledge fealty to your family.
YOUR family!" Untar slapped the scroll across Horace's face. "What have
you to say in your defense?"
Sir Horace was speechless. The document never stated anything of
the kind, he thought. It only requested his presence.
And Rosgood ... Gow, Rosgood had been his closest advisor. Untar
knew this.
"There is nothing I can say, my emperor. I am innocent. I request a
trial by my peers --"
"You request nothing," Untar began. "This is treason on the highest
level. We are in enemy territory, in the midst of war. And you plot
against me.
"Thieryn!" Untar called. "Take him away. We want his head on a
pike, in the middle of camp, and his body hanging from the tallest tree.
Let us show his compatriots what happens to those that plot against our
divine will!"
We met again, for the last time. This time, however, there were
only five. We all had questions to ask her. Why Rosgood? Why implicate
one of our own? But we knew the answer. She had decided it was safest
for the rest of us, and had acted as she saw fit. We could not question
her. We had had little to do with it. But I would still attempt to sway
her from Untar's death, or block her ability to order it.
"In light of recent events," I began, "we are without our Sir
Rosgood, a nobleman and leader. However, I feel his family should still
have representation. Therefore, I suggest we honor his family by
requesting they appoint a new representative."
As I looked to the faces in the group, I knew they would all
support me. No one felt comfortable with the dark priestess' plan to
remove Rosgood. He was not part of the deal. I stared at her. She met my
gaze calmly.
"I agree," she said. "However, since Untar is certain to begin
moving his reserve troops against Rosgood's household, it is unlikely
that they will send another representative."
"But they must be represented," I said, "or this council is
invalid."
"Then I suggest we request the advice of the highest ranking
official of their bloodline that is present at this war front," Amante's
daughter spoke.
I agreed. We all did.
"Then we shall reconvene tomorrow night?" I offered.
"No," she stated. "Our meetings have drawn to an end. We must act
upon our majority rule."
The General spoke. "But we must find the representative --"
Once again, she smiled. It was all she needed to halt his speech.
"I am that family's highest ranking official. Horace was my brother."
We all stared. I was dumbfounded. I had attempted to circumvent her
plans, but had given her the key. And then I knew why she had removed
Rosgood from our circle. Now she held two votes.
"Then our mission is complete. Rosgood opposed your desire to
remove Untar."
"That was the issue in conflict. And now this council is no longer
divided. We can act." Peacefulness rested on her shoulders.
"I protest!" shouted one of my allies, Thieryn. "Untar's life is my
charge!"
"And yours shall be the sword that ends it," she answered. There
was nothing we could do. Our council had met to decide the fate of a
nation, and we had done so. "Untar has brought his fate upon himself."
Untar parted the tent flap that led into his private chambers,
followed closely by his personal guard, Thieryn. He had dismissed the
others, wishing to be alone in his thoughts, but Thieryn had refused to
leave him. In light of recent events, the Emperor of Beinison must not
be left alone -- and could not gain the privacy he desired. He sat in a
chair, facing the only remaining friend he had.
"Sir Horace denied the pamphlet's contents, Thieryn. And I killed
him. No trial. He's dead."
Thieryn's face was stone like in its lack of movement. His lips
parted slightly. "We had evidence of his treason, my Emperor."
"Couldn't it have been a forgery?" Untar's eyes were red, fighting
back the tears that came with his loss. His voice cracked, slightly, and
Thieryn realized his Emperor, with all his power, was still only
seventeen years old.
"This war has made me mad," Untar said. "Killing the people I would
rather be ruling ... how am I ever to trust these people? How could I
know they loved me as their Emperor? What good is it to rule over people
who would rather have another in your place? Would they not rise against
me? Challenge my divine right as Emperor, and put a false king in my
place? Were I killed and Beinison placed in Haralan's hands, would you
follow him so loyally as you do me?
"This has gone on too long," Untar continued. "I am too tired of
this battle. Thieryn, what if I've just condemned an innocent man? Set
this man's head upon a pike, as a testament to what happens to loyal
subjects? He was one of my strongest supporters, and wisest advisors --
but the pamphlet was so public! Thieryn, when you arrested Rosgood so
publicly, you tied my hands. I had to show that I am a strong ruler. But
did I have to kill him? I became so angry with him -- and now I have
failed a man that believed in me. I have killed a loyal subject.
"I am not a great ruler, Thieryn. I am nothing. I do not deserve to
live. Horace tried to warn me -- I am wasting lives, here, and
accomplishing nothing. All my friends are gone -- Horace, Mon-Taerleor
-- I am so alone. Except for you, Thieryn. I have caused so many
problems, cost so many lives ... for what? And how can I repair that
which I have broken?
"I no longer want Baranur. This cold, desolate, barren land, not at
all the like the beautiful mountains of Beinison, the long sloping
planes of the Central Region, the warm waters off the western coast.
Nothing but cold. With cold-hearted subjects that would attempt to
assassinate me at every turn."
Untar looked up at Thieryn. "But I cannot go home, can I, my
friend? How do I tell the ruling families that the thousands of lives
I've cost them were for nothing? Their sons, daughters, subjects, dead
at my hands and nothing to show for it! I must die here, in Baranur,
alone except for you."
Suddenly, Untar looked brightly up at Thieryn, the tears running
down his face glinting in the torch light of his tent. A spark of hope
glinted in his eyes, and something akin to madness.
"Yes! That's it! There is no other course! I must die. It must be
here. And now! Thieryn, you must leave me. I have to be alone."
Thieryn stood in shock. He had been sent to kill his emperor, but
now Untar wanted to commit suicide. Untar's family line would be
disgraced. But it would save Thieryn the responsibility of killing him.
Killing a man he had sworn to protect, whose life he had guarded for
over ten years. But if he let his emperor commit this act, then it were
as if he had struck the knife to Untar's chest with his own hands.
"No, my emperor, you must not!" Thieryn stepped forward, grabbing
Untar's shoulders and turning him to face Thieryn. "Yours is a proud
line, full of noble emperors generations in the counting. Your father
conquered two kingdoms and took them into Beinison, and now the nobles
are your loyal subjects. Your grandfather defeated the Lederian
Invasion, pushing back their forces and claiming half their own lands.
You shall be as victorious, one day!"
Untar looked at him, confused. "But ... I have failed. I have
nothing. The other families -- "
"The other families can say nothing. You have taken two full
duchies with this army ... Taken them from the largest force Beinison
has ever faced. You have personally lead glorious battles! You could
order the troops to fall back to Duchy Pyridain, fortify our holdings,
and prepare another assault for the coming year. In a few months,
Haralan will have no choice but to treatise with you to spare his very
life!"
Untar stood up. "You are right, Thieryn." He moved out of Thieryn's
grasp and turned his back to wipe his eyes. "You are correct. I have
nothing to fear from the other nobles. I am the emperor! They will
listen to us! *We* are Beinison!"
Thieryn noticed Untar's usage of the royal plural. He smiled, even
as a tear fell down his cheek and he silently drew his sword from his
belt. He could not let his emperor die like a cowering, weak, terrified
child. But an emperor, standing tall, confident in his power ... that
was how his emperor should be remembered.
A quick thrust. Torn fabric. No groan from his emperor. No sound of
pain. Just a little bit of liquid soaking into the ground.
========================================================================
Screams of War
by Mark A. Murray
Magnus, Sy 1014
The screams were the worst. Wynni ran down an alley trying to put
the screaming behind her, but she kept running closer to it. It seemed
to come from everywhere. The screaming echoed off the walls. It came
from the people who ran around her. The night sky was lit from the fires
and the whole city seemed to glow. A dark cloud hovered above it all; a
dark cloud of black smoke that covered the sky and reflected the burning
back upon Magnus. The fires hadn't worked their way to her, yet. For
this, she was glad. She also had managed to avoid most of the Beinison
invaders. If she could just find a way out ...
"They shouldn't be here!" her mind screamed as she turned a corner
and saw soldiers. "This is Magnus. We're not supposed to be invaded."
She turned around and ran down another street. Waves of heat assaulted
her and she had to run down a side alley to escape the flames.
"Sweet Stevene, help me," Wynni cried softly as she ran. "If you
help me out of this, I'll never sell myself again. Please, Stevene!" she
pleaded. Wynni heard soldiers behind her and she quickly turned down
another alley. As she turned the corner, blood splattered her face and
body.
"Augh!" she yelled as she wiped the blood from her face. Her
movements were jerky and erratic as she tried to get all the blood off
of her. When she opened her eyes, she saw a small battle in front of
her. "Go away!" she screamed in her mind. "Go away!"
As she backed into the alley wall, she watched in horror as men cut
and slashed each other. With each wound, a part of her seemed to die.
Swords whistled and clanged. She heard a soft fleshy thunk as a mace was
buried in a man's stomach. She didn't hear the screams until she saw an
arm severed from someone. Blood spurted everywhere. The man who had
swung the sword was covered in it. She saw several men on the ground
clutching different parts of their bodies and screaming in agony. A man
slipped in the blood and before he could get up another man stabbed him
from behind. The stabbed man turned and she saw recognition in both of
the men's eyes. She thought she heard the standing man say he was sorry,
but couldn't be sure because a sword took his head.
"Stop it!" she screamed aloud. Nobody heard her. "Oh, Stevene,
please stop it," she cried. The battle raged fiercer as new men joined
the fray. She turned and threw up. The screams echoed in her head as her
stomach emptied what contents it had held. "Go away!" she screamed to
the screaming. Looking back at the battle, she saw a man coming toward
her. She turned and ran down an alley. As she turned the corner into
another alley, she ran into a warrior.
"Let me go!" she yelled as she tried to pull away.
"What have we got here?" the mercenary asked. "Looks like you've
seen some fighting." He held her arm tightly.
"Let me go. You're hurting me!" she told him.
"Looks like a pretty thing, doesn't it?" he said as he wiped more
blood from her face. "Hold her still," he told his companion. The other
man grabbed her upper arms and held her tightly.
"I've got her, Arvid," he said. Arvid let go of her arm and grabbed
her shirt.
"Let's see what we've got here," he said as he started to undo it.
Wynni squirmed but it only caused her shirt to rip. Arvid smiled.
"The building behind you looks empty, Arvid," the man holding her
said. Arvid turned and looked in the open doorway. He stepped in for a
moment and when he came back out, he grabbed Wynni and pulled her
inside.
"Please let me go," she pleaded.
"Do what you're told," Arvid said.
"No, no --" she started to cry but stopped as Arvid slapped her.
"You gonna take the rest of them clothes off or do I have to slap
you again?" he said.
"Please," she cried. Arvid slapped her again. Wynni fell to the
floor and Arvid stood over her. When he moved to undo her pants, she
kicked at him but he dodged it easily.
"Hold her, Burke," he told his companion. "She's a slow one." As
Burke held her, Arvid used his knife to cut her pants. He didn't care
this time and left many long narrow slices in her legs.
"Stevene!" she cried out.
"He's burning with the rest of them," Arvid told her as he undid
his pants. She screamed until her voice gave out.
They had left her alive. "It was just another paying man on a
regular night," she told herself, but it didn't help the pain go away.
She was on the floor and her body shivered. As she tried to stand, the
physical pain of the rape and the many cuts in her legs caused her to
lay back down. She curled up into a tight ball and tried to make it go
away. She wanted to die, but instead from somewhere in the night, she
heard the screaming again. "Why, Stevene, why?" she asked softly into
the night. She cried as the city died.
"I'm sorry," came a voice inside the room. She jerked and looked
around, but didn't see anything.
"Who's there?" she asked.
"I came too late," the boy said as he emerged from his hiding
place. "I didn't have a weapon and I wouldn't know how to use it if I
did," he said. "There was too many of them. I'm sorry."
"Who are you?" she asked as she tried to cover herself with her
torn clothes. When the boy came closer, she saw that he was older -- he
was a young man. His beard was just coming in and he had the start of a
mustache. His brown hair was cut short and he wore a priest's robe.
"I'm Ammon. My dad was a baker. He's dead. So's mom," he told her.
"I have a robe if you want it. It's a priest's robe and it's got blood
on it, but what doesn't now?"
"Thank you," she said taking the robe.
"We should go. I think the fire's coming this way."
She stood and pain lanced through her. She stumbled and he caught
her arm. She looked at him and saw tears in his eyes. "So much pain,"
she thought. "When will it end?"
"Soon," he answered. She was too lost in her pain to notice his
unusual answer.
They left the room and went into the alley. The city was brightly
lit. As they walked in a direction that was away from the worst of the
fire, they saw bodies lying everywhere. She tried not to look at them,
but it was impossible not to. Some were burned and blackened while
others were twisted at odd angles. And the screaming continued.
"I had a friend once," Ammon said. "He was the best friend that
I've ever had. He was a teacher and I was an arrogant kid when he found
me. He taught me many things." Ammon stopped as they hid in a darkened
alley and waited for the soldiers to go by. After some moments, he
deemed it safe enough and they continued on in silence.
There were many times that they had to hide or run, but it seemed
to Wynni that it was different. With Ammon next to her, the way was
easier and the screaming seemed distant.
"I don't have any friends," Wynni said. "Just close strangers."
"I did a lot of things that I shouldn't have. Until my friend found
me. After that, life wasn't the same." Ammon stopped again, but this
time it wasn't because of soldiers. Wynni could tell that something was
bothering him.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"He was killed," Ammon answered. "Sometimes, I wonder what would
have happened if I had been with him ..."
"This war hurts us all," she said trying to ease his pain. She
didn't think that he could have helped his friend. After all, he wasn't
able to help her. Ammon looked at her then and smiled. She started to
say something, but they had reached the river.
"We should be safe here," Ammon said as they crawled under a
bridge. Ammon curled up to her as they settled in their hiding place. He
was warm and soft. Wynni put her arms around him and held him tight. As
she drifted to sleep, she wondered where the screaming went.
"You there!" someone shouted. Wynni jerked awake and saw several
soldiers standing near her.
"Think she's Beinison?" said a soldier.
"Get her across the river and question her," the leader ordered.
"Make sure she's not."
"Ammon, we're safe," she whispered, but when she turned to where he
had been, he was gone.
"Looks like she's been in the worst of it. No rough handling with
this one, though. Understand?" the leader asked.
"Ammon?" she asked again as the soldiers led her to safety.
"Did you say 'Ammon'?" the leader asked her.
"Yes," Wynni answered. "He helped me out of the city."
"How many does this make, Cap'n?" a soldier asked.
"Nine," the leader said. "You're the ninth person to have been
helped by this 'Ammon'. Nine we know of, that is."
"Blessed Stevene!" a soldier said and the words shocked her.
"Stevene," the soldier continued, "had many disciples. One of them was
named Ammon. Ammon wasn't there when Cephas Stevene was killed. He came
days later and was murdered for proclaiming to be a disciple of Cephas.
He was too late to save his friend. Maybe he's trying to make up for
that?"
"Stevene," she thought. "He had said his best friend was a teacher
who had changed his life. His friend was killed when he wasn't there.
His friend had to be Cephas Stevene!"
"Ammon?" she asked the silent air around her.
========================================================================